


Beneath the Armour

by CaliburnWings



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3693311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliburnWings/pseuds/CaliburnWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the world he is the Herald. The Inquisitor. Fearless Warrior and Leader. But beneath the armour? He is simply a young man desperately learning how to be what that world needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A series of one shots revolving around the head canons I had for my Inquisitor. Your comments would be greatly appreciated so I can improve my writing style.

Chapter One

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.” William Shakespeare.

Alone, in his room, on the rock hard bed, with the door firmly locked: he wept.

He made sure to make no noise, as he did so. He held his miserable excuse for pillow to his face as the sobs wracked his body. It wouldn't do for the soldiers, to hear him. Or for the lack of a better word, his companions: the mysterious elf Solas, always-ready-with-a-quip Varric and the hard and unyielding Cassandra. Mayhap he would have another in a few days’ time. Tomorrow he would be on his way to the Storm Coast to meet up with the leader of a mercenary company, The Bull’s Chargers and the famous (or infamous) Iron Bull.

He also shared this floor with the other Inquisition leaders. Josephine Montilyet, she seemed nice. An Antivan, well versed in politics. The name was familiar too, he’d have to ask her about it. Leliana, always smiling before others, and yet the few times he had noticed her in her tent just outside the chantry doors, her mouth would be set in a firm line, eyes searching for unseen foes. Then there was Cullen Rutherford the former Templar. He had seen the effects of lyrium, he knew the symptoms of withdrawal. The headaches, the twitching, he wondered if the others knew what he was attempting. Well best of luck to him. Seeing his elder brother, Richard, suffer had been enough to turn him from Templar life.

So why was he, Henry Maxwell Trevelyan, Chosen of Andraste alone in his room weeping? Simply, his grief had finally caught up with him. He wept for his siblings, those lost and those living. He wept for his parents, for the grief they must be feeling after losing three children, a fourth unlikely to return to them anytime soon. For the people of Thedas who didn't know their only hope was an untried youngster who’d never even seen a demon until the day of the explosion. He wept for himself and a life he would never regain. Carefree Henry Trevelyan, always ready with a smile and a cheeky comment to lighten the mood, had died at the Conclave too. In his place there was the Herald. Figurehead of the Inquisition. People of all ages and races flocked to the banner because of him, hoping to hear how Andraste had shielded him and returned him to the world. Was it true though? Maker knows he had no idea what had happened.

But while He may not remember what happened during the Conclave, he knew the events in his life that proceeded it.

The seventh child of Bann Trevelyan, he and his brother Thomas were sent to represent the family at the Conclave. To assist and record the historic event, that was the official story. The truth was they had gone to find any word of their sister. Evelyn was a mage, missing since the Ostwick Circle fell or rose in rebellion depending on who you asked. The day they left was unremarkable, fair weather, no ominous clouds hovering in the sky, no obvious omens portending his doom. No just his father’s firm edict resounding in his ears, his mother’s quietly hopeful look as they bid them farewell in the courtyard.

* * *

 

_The courtyard is fairly empty as the four of us say our goodbyes, just Mother, Father, Thomas and me. William is away on family business, Richard is bedridden after the latest bout of nightmares kept him awake all night. Eleanor left with her children the week before to return to Starkhaven and her husband. Father repeats what he had said to us yesterday and the day before._

_The Major Powers of this War will be there, the Divine herself too. The majority will be Orlesian at that. Do not let them look down on you, you are a Free Marcher and you are free to do what you think is best in finding her. Do you understand?”_

_A reply in unison. “Yes Father.” Modest in temper. Bold in deed. Be calm, discreet, but if you have to, if there’s no other way: break heads. No need to tell us that Father. We are Trevelyans, family is everything. I miss her as much as you. The pain pierces me, as does that sorrowful look on Mother’s face, she tries to hide it but she can’t all the time. She has lost one child already, her days are spent watching Richard struggle with the demons inside his head. I will not add to her pain, I will find our sister, I will do all I can._

_“_ _Speak to anyone you think would have the slightest information. Mages, Templars. This event will be historic, I would expect to see all sorts there”. By “all sorts” he means elves, dwarves, possibly those horned giants too. It doesn't matter, who or what they are, if they have information we’ll speak to them, beg or threaten if we have to._

_“_ _Understood, Father”, comes Thomas’ reply. Not a man of many words my brother. He was much more talkative when he was younger. Now he is always solemn. Chantry life for you, probably why he does not look keen on speaking to those who don’t follow the Chant._

_Mother startles at this, looking up she shakes her head at Father, then turns to us, “Only speak to them if it is safe to do so, I do not wish to lose…” her voice breaks._

_I rush forward to embrace her, “Mother I swear we will do all we can”._

_“Thank you my dear boys, I know you will”. She buries her face in my chest to hide her tears._

_More hugs follow. Father lightens the mood by doing as he has done since I was knee high. He ruffles my short hair so it stands in all directions. Mother laughs as she flattens it down again. Maker’s sake, I’m 26 not 5! But it is comforting. Makes it seem as we are just wandering over the fields to tell Evelyn, supper is ready and she would have to come home now, how I wish that were still the case but it is not to be._

_We mount up, and the available Brothers Trevelyan hit the road to rescue a lost sister._  

* * *

 

When was the last time he felt so alone? As far back as he could remember he had always been surrounded by his family. His surviving siblings: William, Eleanor, Thomas, Richard and Evelyn. Mother and Father, endless Aunts and Uncles, his two dozen or so cousins. There was always someone with the Trevelyan blood around.

But now, Thomas was dead. Evelyn probably was too if she had been at the Conclave, if not she was still missing. Richard was battling through the lyrium addiction and dealing with being discharged from the Templars. Eleanor and that stuck up noble she had married were now settled in Starkhaven. That left, William the heir, already fighting desperately to advance the family name to comfort his poor parents in their grief.

And what about him? What had become of little Henry Trevelyan. The last born child. Perpetually muddy, knees scraped, hair a mess with, twigs, hay, grass or leaves stuck in it. Always in trouble with his governess and tutors. Why be in a classroom when you could be outside, where you and the other “Spares” could run about being the heroes of old! Why wait for dinner when the kitchens were so easy to sneak in and out of. We were never expected to amount to anything beyond reasonable positions in the Chantry or the Order. You don’t need much education for that. He could read, write, knew his history and the Chant (mostly). Why coop him up in a classroom, if I’m to be for the order why not leave me be in the practice ring outside? Rattling his wooden training sword against his cousin’s. Flailing his shield about uselessly to the consternation of his instructor. He practically jumped for joy the day the old man had wrenched it out of his grip and handed him two practice daggers. Finally something that felt natural to him. The only advantage he had ever had over his training mates was his speed and now he could use it.

Slowly the crying stops and he lets out a morose chuckle. It makes him laugh that the Leaders ask him his opinion on Inquisition matters. Had the Spymaster not looked into his background yet? Nothing noteworthy or inspiring. Could the Commander not see his soldiering skills were lacking? He was more than competent with his blades, had a decent grasp of tactics but it didn't make him a leader. Surely the Ambassador could see he didn't have the flowery charm for the Game? She had already had to step between him and the Marquis Durellion to maintain their place in Haven. He went to save one sibling, now he may have lost two. What he had was a throbbing, glowing marked hand. They think he can save the world? Maker help us.

“Enough! Dammit!” he needs to rest, the trip to the Coast will be long. Finished with his tears for now, He quiets himself. His frustration still remains however leading him to launch his pillow at the opposite wall, without thinking. Too late, he watches as it bounces off onto the nearby end table and hits a half full goblet to the floor with a loud clatter. He gets up to fix the mess, hopefully no one hear-

“Trevelyan?”

Shit

He straightens himself, and unlocks his door to the Seeker.

“Pentaghast. Apologies I knocked over a goblet, I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“Your eyes are red”. “Nothing gets past you does it?” Her eye twitches, he’s hit a nerve without trying to, curious.

She ignores him and asks why he is crying with her customary tact.

“I, well,” he stumbles over his words before a thought crystalizes in his head, She needs to know, they all do, He is a mortal man with a family and other earthly concerns. Not some fade-sent champion of the Maker. They should know that he is one of them, glowing green mark aside. They shouldn't expect miracles. He clears his throat.

“My brother was with me at the Conclave, with all that has happened, I haven’t had chance to properly mourn him”.

Her eyes widen in response. “I’m sorry for your loss Trevelyan. I will leave you be.”

“Thank you, I will be well. We are for the Coast tomorrow to meet this Bull. I will not let it distract me. I will be well”. Who is he trying to convince here?

She smiles at him, a truly sad smile, like she knows something he doesn't. “You will be, not as soon as you think, but you will be. Until tomorrow Trevelyan”. He watches her leave for her room and returns to bed, trying to get comfortable. There is work to be done, new allies to be made for the Inquisition. As he drifts of to sleep his thoughts turn to the red haired Spymaster. Her network of spies and informants spread wide across Thedas on both sides of the war, perhaps she can find his sister?

Perhaps there is hope after all?


	2. Chapter Two

He sighed as he reread his letter. Perhaps he should have taken up Lady Montilyet’s offer to contact his family for him. No on second thought that would not do, his brother would tan his hide for the cheek of not writing himself. Still it wasn't a bad effort.

 

 

_To Lord William Edward Trevelyan_

_Dear Brother,_

_I hardly know where to begin. I apologise for not writing more since the events of the Conclave. You were witness to enough of my childhood canings to know that letters and writing were not my strong suit._

_There are two matters to discuss. The first is our sister, the second is this situation I find myself in with the Inquisition._

_Using the resources of the Inquisition, we have managed to establish that Evelyn was not at the Conclave! However there are still no leads on where she may be. The Inquisition spare whatever agents we can to further the search but we are pulled in so many directions we cannot do more at the moment._

_Surely she must have heard my name being thrown about by now? Felt safe enough to come out of hiding? Maker’s breath I travel with an elven Apostate! There is no persecution of mages here! We cannot afford to turn away any potential allies. I hope and pray she is alive but it is the former thought that will not leave my mind. For this reason I leave it to you to decide if you will pass this information on to our parents. To have cause to hope only to see it cruelly snatched away? I don’t know if that is worse than having no hope at all._

_The second matter is the Inquisition. As you have no doubt heard, We have been declared heretics by the remaining members of the Chantry hierarchy. There are three things you must know: firstly, by declaring the Inquisition anew we are following the late Divine’s directive. We have not twisted her purpose or legacy. Her intentions were clear, if the Conclave failed, the Inquisition must rise to try to put right the world’s current wrongs. The second: I did not murder the Divine. It is true I have no memory of the events of the conclave, but you know me brother. Obedience to the Chantry runs in our blood, that I murdered the Most Holy is unconscionable. Thirdly: Not once has any member of the Inquisition Leadership declared that I am the Herald of Andraste. Where this rumor sprang from we do not know and stopping it is an impossible task._

_The above three reasons are why we are declared heretics and why I need your help. You and Father must speak to the Chantry members of our family. Convince them that we only mean to help close the breach. They must talk to us, so we can form a plan. They are so busy with petty squabbles and grasps for power that they refuse to see the most obvious threat! So gather up our cousins, Aunts and Uncles. You cannot swing a nug at Trevelyan reunions without hitting at least four Chantry Brothers or Sisters! Surely one of them is able to help. Speak to them on our behalf William, convince them to listen at least! We need every ally we can muster. I shall shortly be off to Val Royeaux to speak to the Chantry members but I do not hold out much hope of gaining any favor there._

_Give my love to Mother and Father, tell them I am well and long to be home. Tell Richard he is not alone in his decision, I have seen for myself that other Templars are taking up the fight against lyrium. He can persevere, I know he can._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_Maker watch over our family._

_Until then I remain, Your brother,_

_Lord Henry Maxwell Trevelyan._

 

That should do. It sounded quite authoritative. Maker’s Breath who was he kidding? William knew him too well, but it would have to do, he didn’t have time for better. He rolled up the parchment and made his way to the Ambassador’s office. Knocking he entered and stood before the desk offering the parchment.

“As requested Lady Montilyet, a letter to my brother on behalf of the Inquisition.”

“Thank you Lord Trevelyan, that was quick, oh you have forgotten to seal it.”

“I thought I would save Leliana the trouble for when she reads it, she may add the seal when she’s finished. We will be off to Val Royeaux tomorrow, I thought I should get it done while I had the chance”

“My Lord, I don’t think…”

“I do not delude myself my Lady that my letters, scarce as they are in number, remain unread by our Spymaster. You have known me barely a month, I must prove myself trustworthy to you all”.

She hesitates before smiling up at him, such honestly is rarely found among the players of the Game she is used to, and perhaps that is why it is so surprising to her. Maker bless him he is trying so hard. He obviously the youngest child in his family.

“I thank you my Lord for your understanding and patience.”

_“A gentleman is ever polite.”_ his mother’s constant admonishment comes unbidden to mind. He gives a slight bow.

“Before I go Lady Montilyet, may I ask if our families know each other? Your name is familiar.”

“I believe everyone of distinction in the Free Marches attends Lady Lucile’s summer balls. Perhaps we have met there?”

“Ah of course! Great Aunt Lucille always did love a party.”

“I do not recall seeing you there my Lord?”

“I was less than sterling company in my youth and I am not Aunt Lucille’s favorite relation for a number of reasons.” A smirk crosses his face. A slight twitch of a smile gives away her amusement as well. She thinks him funny. It is comforting, to still be on occasion the Henry Trevelyan that can crack a joke, make a dry comment and leave the room amused.

“Why is that?”

“Do you recall an occasion when her centerpiece was a lattice work of desserts, fruits, cakes and sweets nearly six feet high?”

“Yes it was magnificent, such a shame it collapsed due to the wind!”

He turns to leave, “It was not the wind my Lady,” a crooked smile appears on his face as she lets out a most unladylike snort. “It is cruel to make a child stare at pudding for so long and I only have so much patience”.

Her laughter follows him out the door.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The Breach had a strangely beautiful quality to it. From his position on the ground he could make out the green and purple hues swirling into it. The rocks floating upwards, how were they held there? How come demons weren't constantly falling from it? How did he get in? How did he get out? Too many questions, he shouldn't look at it so often. The responsibility of it terrified him, as did the questions.

 

Wait, he had been doing something, hadn't he? He should probably get back to that when he remembered whatever it was.

 

A shadow fell across his face, “If you've quite finished lying down?”

 

Ah that was it, sparring with Cullen. In private, of course, wouldn't do for the troops to see how unprepared he was. He was proud to say his dagger skills were impressive enough for the Inquisition Commander. However Cullen had later raised a good point, he couldn't be confined to one style or weapon. Couldn't afford to be caught off guard. He could be disarmed, captured. Learning to use what was available whether it was swords, maces or bows was a must. So here he was in a small clearing outside Haven’s gates, flat on his back after a particularly brutal clash of shields.

 

He blinked, and sat up “You don’t hold back, do you Commander?”

 

Cullen extended his hand, “Perhaps I should until you have improved your skill. That you only had basic training shows.”

 

He bit back the anger he felt at the insult Cullen probably hadn't meant to imply. He took the offered hand and got to his feet. Stepping back from his sparring partner he adjusted the shield on his arm, forcing himself to grip it tighter despite the pain from the Mark shooting up his arm like a thousand knives.

 

Maker when would it stop hurting? He spoke through gritted teeth. “No, we do not have time. You are right I am familiar with basics of the Templar style. It should not take long to bring me up to scratch.”

 

“But you never took your vows?”

 

“No. I did not.”

 

Cullen looked him up and down as he got back into the correct fighting stance, shield angled slightly down, blade raised. “You were what, sixteen when you began training? I understand it can be a difficult life, to dedicate yourself wholly to the good of others. Maybe the Order insisting on taking recruits when they are so young is not a good policy, they do not know themselves, may not be able to see beyond their own desires.” Suddenly Cullen was in front of him, making a jab for his abdomen with his sword. A surprise attack, as the shield hid most of the movement until the last possible second.

 

Ha,  _“Unlucky Commander,”_  that was too familiar. It was a favorite tactic of the arms instructor in the Trevelyan household and when your own preferred style was two blades, well you learned to develop sharp eyes and fast reactions. He stepped back and to the side allowing Cullen’s momentum to take him forward. When he drew level with him, he barged the good Commander to the ground with his shield.

 

He walked over to help his slightly winded opponent up. Thinking it over He realized Cullen had again probably not meant to give offence with that remark. No denying it anymore, Cullen was struggling, he’d been irritable all day snapping at soldiers who weren't quick enough to follow his directives. By the time he dragged Henry away from his lunch with a few of the others and out for practice the tension around him had been palpable. He thought at one point Josephine was going about to come up with some excuse for him so he could stay inside and out of harm’s way!

 

Should he mention Richard? Maybe if he knew that there were others who had made the decision he had, would this help him and anyway should he be offering advice on so personal a matter? He had known the Commander for seven weeks and they had formed a sort of camaraderie between them, especially against the pompous Chancellor Roderick. He had never seen him like this. He was an exacting teacher to his recruits, but he was never harsh. Cullen corrected their flaws with brutal efficiency, he had to, their lives depended on it, but he had never once brought up their background as a tool to use against them like he’d been doing today.

 

He pulled Cullen up and they began circling each other again. They stepped to towards each other, trading blows, he thought Cullen seemed calmer. That was until another vicious blow rattled his shield causing the pain in his arm to double. He could feel the burning heat flare again, the green pulses were becoming visible even through his gloves. What was happening, was it because he was, technically in battle, was it reacting to perceived danger? Shit, he could lose control here, this couldn't carry on. They were too far from camp, from Solas who was the only one with any noteworthy knowledge on the Mark and how to tame it.

 

He dropped his sword, “There was only one thing about the life that made me hesitate Cullen and that was the lyrium.”

 

Cullen jumped, stopping his planned assault. His face went pale, sword falling to his side as he stared at the younger man.

 

“I was three years into my training when I had to escort my brother Richard home. Officially he was honorably discharged, because he was wounded in battle. In reality he could no longer withstand the lyrium and refused to take it. The nightmares, the pain he suffers must be truly horrific but he is fighting it, fighting for control of his own  life. I know there are others with the same goal a few cousins included. Seeing him, them, I became disillusioned with the life and resigned from my position. It wasn't a question of me not wanting to live a good life or help others. Six months after we returned to our estate Richard told me that there were other ways I could serve the Maker, I did not need to be bound by lyrium to do so. I am grateful for his advice and even more grateful he left the order, if he had not, he would have been at the Conclave with his fellow Templars and I would have lost two brothers that day. Something for you to consider, Commander?”

 

Cullen looks dumbfounded, but quickly recovers. He cocks his head to the side looking at him in a different light, “And to think we were worried you weren't sharp enough for all this Herald.” He shakes his head, to clear his thought. “Perhaps we have done enough for today?”

 

He flexes his hand, the pain has faded. He grins, picking up the sword again, “Shield up Commander, unless you want another scar for you lip. I’m told the ladies like it!”

 

A bark of laughter escapes said, usually stern, Commander, perhaps he could work small miracles after all.

 

 

Another hour later, aching and exhausted, they talk as they make their way back to Haven’s Chantry.

 

“So you are still going to speak to this Magister in Redcliffe?”

 

“Yes. We head out in two days’ time and I don’t think we have much choice. Honestly, I've no idea where we stand with the Templars after what happened in Val Royeaux.”

 

“He truly struck a Revered Mother?”

 

“Not personally, he had one of his men do it. That was the most disturbing part, they did it without question. I know that obedience is the core of the Order but still? To just strike her, Cullen there was barely a crowd there, maybe fifty at most, and I even don’t think they were listening to her. What was the point of such a display? Surely not heeding the Chantry’s call would've been just as powerful a message?”

 

“Obedience is valued in the order that is true, but to just follow blindly without question is madness.” Cullen shakes his head.

 

“Thinking back, there was one knight, I think he was about my age maybe older. He asked the Lord Seeker to listen to us. Barrow? Barrett? I didn't catch his name. Hopefully he is not alone, there may be others willing to listen but we should speak to the magister, if only to get to the bottom of the situation in Redcliffe. What if we don’t? We seal the breach only to find the mages absorbed into a dangerously organized cult on our doorstep?”

 

A rare smile graces Cullen’s face, “That is the first time I have heard anyone talk of plans beyond sealing the breach. You would think we were doomed no matter what we attempt from the mood in camp and around the war table. It’s good to hear it come from you as well, I know you do not consider yourself as part as the leadership, so to speak, but we value your opinion and you have done much good. Others in your position would have seen to their own needs, not raced around the Hinterlands chasing rams for food, finding healers, blankets and whatnot for refugees. Truly we are grateful for your involvement with the Inquisition.”

 

He shakes his head at this to distract from the redness tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It is a strange failing of his, criticism he can withstand but praise can easily undo him. In a family of six boisterous children it is hard to distinguish yourself as someone has achieved it before. William mastered a horse a five. Eleanor was an accomplished archer even at seven. Richard and Thomas were the apples of their tutors’ eyes. A learned child is a blessing from the Maker and all that. True praise was a rarity, for him.

 

Cullen carries on, “I will not lie to you I would prefer the Templars to aid us in this endeavour. Mages who are currently drunk on their own freedom and power, I shudder to think…forgive me I meant no disrespect.”

 

“Cullen after what you have been through at Kirkwall, I understand your reservations and I share some of them but I think it would be foolish to overlook this.” 

 

Another pause, they are just outside the Chantry doors.

 

“Has Leliana, found any trace of your sister, forgive me I don’t know her name?”

 

“Evelyn, her name is Evelyn. And no, not yet.”


End file.
